


Protecting the Pack

by Jane_Pilot



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Family Secrets, Gen, Not Beta Read, Protective!Tim, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:35:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Pilot/pseuds/Jane_Pilot
Summary: "Detective," Ra's greets, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, veiling his curiosity. "How lovely to see you. Though I take it you are not here for simple pleasantries?""Where is Red Robin?" The question is growled through clenched canines, demanding an immediate answer.Ra's gestures to his sides, "As you can see, the younger detective does not currently reside by me. No matter how hard I try in offering the position."A snare rips from Batman's lips, a warning that the vigilante is willing to cross that line, if he doesn't get his answers. Willing to risk his beliefs for the son he had often forgotten. A son who thought himself unloved and without pack. Batman was willing to fight for his broken bird, his partner. And Bruce Wayne was willing to fight for his child. His son."Where. Is. He?"





	1. Presenting Tim

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, first story since primary so don't expect any J.K. Rowling or Shakespearean novels. Seriously, lower your standards.
> 
> This will be the only time I start with a beginnings note, just to clear the marijuana scented-air or whatever it is that takes your fancy. 
> 
> This is UN-beta'd (did I type that right?) and therefore unedited.
> 
> I'm not modest, so you know-praise me (please). I like being praised, it helps give me motivation to continue and form new ideas. In saying that, I do like constructive criticism as it helps me write better, and also helps to motivate me with new ideas. 
> 
> Many thanks and love galore. Kisses and all that gross cuddly stuff. Ick

Janet Drake had taught her son the dynamics of a well-functioning pack, and the catalysts to a broken-pack. She explained the importance of each caste in a pack, from Omega to Beta and finally Alpha. Every theory was explored, from the rational to the opinionated, and every history that showcased the unity of pack was analytically studied. Even as an infant she would regale stories of old and new, as an effort to keep her darling pup flexible to the ideals of tradition and modern evolution. Janet would raise her pup with morals and etiquette befitting the status of the pack of Drake, not a supremacist who limited themselves intellectually.

 

A whimper from the pup in her arms had her shifting in her chair, the need to comfort her pup as a Mother and an Omega was difficult, and being unable to was heart-wrenching to say the least. All she could do was continue to rock in her chair with the small bundle, whispering words of encouragement and love.

 

Timothy’s presentation would be hard on him, having been born sickly and prematurely. The chemicals in Tim’s body began changing, his muscles and bones reacting to the sudden burst of hormones. His mother held him tightly in her arms, soothing the red flush on his face with a damp cloth. For two hours his mother held him, rocked him and planted kisses in his messy black hair, all the while stroking his cheek with all the tenderness of what an Omega could provide their pup. Two more hours later and the rich scent of musk seeped through his pores, eliminating his sweet baby powder smell in the process.

 

Janet continued to rock him in her arms, a low hum of amusement the only sign of her surprise. While she did not mind what caste her pup presented as, it still came as a surprise. Then again, if she were to think about the intentions of his actions over the years, the Omega woman supposed this was a logical- albeit foreshadowed- outcome.

 

“M-Momma?”

 

Janet hushed her pup, placing another kiss on his sweaty head. “It is all done, my darling pup. You handled your presentation well.”

 

Nuzzling the newly presented scent glands on his neck with her nose, a ghost smile danced across her rosy lips as Tim gave out a contented purr, closing his eyes in bliss. She would scent him with her own smell, and he onto her; a rite of acceptance. It was a way to integrate oneself properly into a pack, a family, reminding the individual that they were loved and they were protected.

 

Janet called out lightly, “Jack, it is over.”

 

Sharp, quiet whines made their way past Tim’s chest as his mother raised her head to talk through the door, turning to happy purring as she rubbed her face against his soft rosy cheeks, blue eyes closing once more in content. Janet’s chest vibrated as her inner-Omega purred with joy.

 

The bedroom door partially opened, Jack’s head slotting through the crack, a curious expression on his face.

 

“What is he?”

 

Janet rolled her eyes, but continued to nuzzle herself into her pup’s neck. “Your _son_. Now come here and scent him while I run a bath. No son of mine will wallow in sweat and tears more than necessary.”

 

Jack raised his arms in defence, “A Beta knows not to come between their Omega and their Omega’s pup. I wouldn’t want my breeding parts to become functionless from a misstep.”

 

“Your stupidity is a misstep. Come husband. Now.” She even had the wit to whistle.

 

Relenting willingly with amusement, Jack stepped forward to collect his pup, marvelling at the way Tim’s small hands waved around in frustration from the sudden loss of contact. His own eyes stared back at him, narrowed in displeasure from the abrupt shift. Tim may have Jack’s eyes, but that frosty look was Janet through and through.

 

Jack laughed, smile growing with joy as his tiny Tim pawed at his chest for attention. Submitting to the gesture, he nuzzled the other side of the drowsy pup’s scent glands, carefully holding his son in one arm as he ran the hand of the other through Tim’s messy dark locks. Tim lost his displeased face, now smiling with an air of smugness about him, as if to say to God himself: _‘My parents love_ me _, and_ only _me. Mine. Mine perfect pack.’_

 

“My strong, little pup,” he kissed into the soft strands, voice shining with wonderment and joy. “You may have your mother’s mind, but you have your father’s spirit. Our strong little protector.”

 

Jack followed Janet to the bathroom, their young pup seemingly in a drunken haze from the overwhelming scents of happiness, joy, adoration and pure love. They bathed him together, smiling as Tim revealed in the endless affection. He lay in the water as his mother held his head above the lavender scented water, preening as his parents groomed him with oils and salts. Jack laughed as he wiped his pups face gently with a cloth, his finger trapped underneath the sharpening canines of Tim’s as he teethed softly.

 

Janet- who would never admit it- crooned at the sight. Although it was common for pups to teeth their newly developing canines, to do so with restraint towards his Father showed Janet that Tim’s mind was sharps and clear amongst the basic needs of their ancestral instincts; Tim could control his humanity and keep his lesser form at bay. Janet praised her son with more gentle touches, her pride rolling off her in waves and enveloping both Tim and Jack in her sweet warm scent.

 

Pulling the plug and wrapping their pup in a soft brown towel, Janet dried him off and placed a pull-up diaper on him as Jack set their bed. Tim would sleep with them tonight, cradled between his parents, their scents mingling together, their binds strengthening overnight as they laid together as pack.

 

The next morning, the family doctor came to check on Tim. After checking Tim’s heart rate, his blood pressure, teeth and size, the doctor spoke with the family. Jack held his son on his lap, bringing the boy’s head to nuzzle into his neck, sweet kisses planted into the lavender scented tuff of hair. Janet sat respectively away, poised and immaculate as ever as she spoke to Doctor Hodgson over Tim’s newly presented caste.

 

Still getting used to his newly developed senses, Tim’s emotions were unrestrained. His curiosity was in abundance to the suddenly brighter colours and interesting new smells. His usual poise he inherited from his mother was replaced by the eager need to test his new senses. The short bristles on Jack’s face became a magnet for Tim’s wondering hands, with his senses now heightened he could feel each individual strand-if he could count past 80, he would’ve counted them all.

 

Jack let the young pup explore his curiosity, un-phased by the exuberant child. Not even his easily annoyed wife took notice. Instead Jack had to hide a smile into baby-soft locks as his wife lifted a polished fingernail to the cheek of their son and stroked affectionately, a stark contrast to the unamused face she bore to the Doctor. Strong-willed, cold and stubborn his wife may be, but the heart of an Omega would always override most personas as an instinctual default- specifically with a pup involved.

 

Doctor Hodgson resituated his glasses and fiddled with his fingers, a nervous habit Jack noticed, most people tended to do around his impassive wife when afraid to displease her. Although Doctor Hodgson had known Jack personally for many years- had even been his best man at his wedding!- the Omega's authoritative personality scared the elder Beta, as he was unused to the dominating aura Janet constantly exuded.

 

 _Try being married to her,_ Jack thought with cheek and no heat.

 

The Doctor had been at the Drake Mansion for approximately half an hour, and in that time his wife had explained exactly what he would write in Tim's file, and exactly how much content would be released to the public health system and the state. His fiery Omega wife had threatened the Doctor's reputation if he did not follow her word to the letter.

 

"I want nothing of what I have said to be left out." Janet had glowered at the man, as if he had every intention of doing so. "And absolutely _no_ _paraphrasing_! Context loses its enrichment from over-paraphrasing."

 

"Yes, Mrs Drake. Certainly."

 

"Do not agree just to appease me."

 

"I agree, purely because you are right Mrs Drake."

 

"Quite." The Omega claimed with a sniff, nose turned up.

 

However, matters got worse as their talk continued. Doctor Hodgson insisted Janet acknowledge the possible consequences of his actions if he followed through with her demands. As each word spilled from Doctor Hodgson's mouth, the tighter Janet's lips became. Displeasure began to roll off of her before her scent became hot with absolute rage. Despite his fear of the woman, he cared for her and her pack, and disregarded the unnerving atmosphere in favour of educating the enrage Omega before him. Jack appreciated the man's determination.

 

While it wasn't wise to cross an infuriated Omega, it was best to inform a mother of what her choices would entail- whether she wanted to hear them or not.

 

“Momma? Momma what wrong?” The pup reached his small hand out to his mother, using the other to pat his Father on the chest in a silent bid for him to let go. Something was wrong with his mother, what was it? It needed to stop, it needed to end. What was making the air around her so salty and sour? So wrong? It made Tim angry, frustrated that something was causing his mother to smell wrong. Even their bond began to shift uneasily through his mind. “Daddy! Daddy let go, please?”

 

Sensing both the pup and Omega were becoming overwhelmed with emotions, Jack gave Doctor Hodgson a glance and a nod, Doctor Hodgson reciprocating the action. Shifting in their seats, they allowed their pheromones to roll off them in waves, followed with a deep rumble rolling in their chests, calming down both the furious Omega and agitated pup. Their scent wafted over the two like lavender in the breeze, their deep rumbles penetrating the elusive thoughts clawing at their hearts, setting an air of contentment to the emotional Mother and Son.

 

“Manipulative Betas,” Janet sniffed.

 

Jack gave her a gentle smile, placing the still wriggly pup in her arms, and pulling her into his arms before she could protest. He was a Beta, all Beta’s knew how to take care of their pack. With a thankful nod to the doctor, he nipped her ear gently, an instinctual askance of ‘Are you going to be alright?’ between mated pairs. Janet hummed non-committing, purring in her chest as she allowed the calming scent of Beta to wipe away her fury and frustration, all the while holding the soft pup closely to her chest, watching as his long eyelashes caressed his cheeks lightly as he began to doze from the Beta-made chemicals wafting in the air.

 

“I do apologise, Mrs Drake” Doctor Hodgson whispered soothingly to the Omega, “I meant not to impede upon you in such a way.”

 

Janet continued to purr into her husband’s chest, all sense of propriety and poise thrown out the window as she lost herself. Curse her manipulative husband, and his manipulative Beta scent. For now she would enjoy being near-drunk off his scent, but tomorrow she would make him shrink into himself like a snail in its shell.

 

“All that I ask of you, is to sign what is necessary for my pup. The Governments laws, while legally enforced, will not cease societal prejudice.” Janet warned. “My pup will not fall victim to Gotham’s medieval opinions. No, he will rise above them and show this city and beyond how impudent its these societal standards really are.”

 

The doctor slowly smiled, taking a few moments appraise the Omega in silence before nodding towards the now sleeping pup in her arms.

 

“I will fill out the appropriate documents for your son. Everything will be organised and documented as you discussed. His documents will remain confidential and inaccessible to public eyes and anyone without the proper identification and authority.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor Hodgson. Truly.” Jack spoke sincerely. “Your credentials and kindness have always protected my pack. I will never forget what you have done for us.”

 

Jack and the Doctor rose simultaneously, clasping one another by the arm.

 

“Mister Drake, it is an honour. Our packs have worked together as both business partners and friends since the first civil war. ‘Birds of a feather, stick together’, do they not?”

 

“Too right, old friend.”

 

Doctor Hodgson bowed his head politely towards the Omega, eyes staring directly down as he smiled with his teeth behind his lips. Janet nodded in acceptance, appreciating the Beta’s chivalry towards herself. It was a traditional gesture of etiquette, eyes averted without a Beta’s or Alpha’s teeth bared showed polite submission to an Omega in their home, a practice uncommon to the rise of new generations. Smiling once more, Doctor Hodgson left to fill out the necessary documents in his study.

 

Over the passing years, Doctor Hodgson would make irregular visits, to check on the growing pup’s health. Since he had presented so young, he was bound to a short stature all his life, though not uncommon in his family seeing as his mother was of the same stature. Throughout his life, his Father and Mother would provide him with scent concealers and medicinal herbs to counter his rising hormones, in hopes to fool the public into believing he had not yet presented- lest the cynical minds of Gotham rally to experiment on their darling pup.

 

Doctor Hodgson had recorded his status and medical information, as his professional responsibilities dictated, sealing the documents and placing them in his own personal safe to avoid a leakage into the media. His documents would be sealed and hidden from prying eyes until his fifteenth birthday- the normal age for when a pup would typically present. It was illegal to hide ones presentation from the government, however the laws failed to protect people premature pups from infidels with curious minds and medieval ideals.

 

When Timothy Jackson Drake was thirteen, his parents were murdered overseas.

 

When Timothy Jackson Drake was thirteen, his files were released to the Children’s Protective Pack Services.

 

When Timothy Jackson Drake was thirteen, the few files released documented him as an Omega Citizen of Gotham City.


	2. Where we stand

It had been raining all day. The manor grounds were flooded, even the gutters had overfilled. From his own room, two stories up, Tim could smell the wet cement. He relaxed, inhaling that familiar earthy smell- it was amazing how something so natural could calm his senses- it reminded him of when his mother and father would send gifts from their overseas adventures, the lingering smell of their tropical visitations encompassing each letter and parcel. He remembered how his father had given him three dolls, made from materials they had both stumbled upon on their journeys, each one representing their immediate pack. His father had made them all of clay, small crystals for eyes, hand-woven materials from villages they visited on their journey clothed the dolls, and paint used sparingly to redden the cheeks and mark the eyebrows. The second parcel he received was from his mother- a jewel embroidered knife and flint, with a letter attached saying:

 

 

_Dearest Timothy,_

_Burn the monstrosity which your father presumes to resemble me and bury its ashes._

_Much Love,_

_Mother_

 

 

His mother was always quick to the point- verbally and written- but Tim could always feel the love directed to him with every word she spoke or wrote. Janet Drake had always been known as an unconventional Woman and Omega, but she was Tim's not the world's, so the world could be damned.

 

Another letter, hidden underneath the polystyrene, was written from his father:

 

 

_Dear Tim,_

_~~Your mother is full of sh~~ The dig has been going well, and the villagers have been a wonderful experience._

_~~Disregard your~~ I can’t wait for you to join us next time! We’ll do pack bonding and marshmallow roasting, I know how you love that. It’ll be like camping. Except in a different country. And with foreigners._

 

_Keep safe and thrive xxx_

_Love you pup._ _Bundles of love to you,_

 

_from Dad_

 

 

And at the bottom of the page, in miniature writing was another message:

 

 

_p.s don’t listen to your mother_

 

Tim had laughed fondly at his father’s cheekiness, pleased that his mother would always have someone with her to keep her company while he was unable to, and placed the dolls, knife and flint on a shelve in his room where he sparingly collected precious mementos that connected him to his pack. Precious jewels, pictures and books linking him to his family; physical keepsakes with the scents of his pack that reminded Tim of the bonds he shared.

 

Pack bonds were everything to Tim, his internal instincts always clawing at the borders of his humanity to claim their place in this humanized society. Once upon a time, society had submitted to their designated instincts and claimed ‘Natural Law’ over any trespassers they may have overstepped in their reach to satisfy any of their foul cravings. But times change.

 

Where once Alpha’s were deigned full rights and dominion over Omegas, were then left bloodied and battered on the footpath with an Omega’s foot up their backside if they so much as grabbed them without permission. Beta’s had been under threat of genocide in many countries, as their genetic make-up allowed for them to easily refute the commands of an Alpha or the heat-sex of an Omega, nowadays they were highly sort-after for many jobs and positions. Omegas, once the emotional and physical outlet for both Alpha and Omega, as well as a slave for either designation, were now able to run their own company and flourish without the need for permission from a high-ranking designation. His mother had often scoffed through her detailed stories concerning designations- now that Tim recalled, he didn't think there was ever a moment during story-time that his mother had never not scoffed. Huh. 

 

Thinking of his parents didn’t hurt as much anymore. Although Tim missed his mother and father, the pain had numbed significantly since then. His cheeks used to prickle the first few years he lost them, eyes always bloodshot by the next morning. A total of seven years had passed and nowadays, Tim felt only a slight tremor of wistful thinking for the pack bonds he lost.

 

His bonds with the Manor residents were familiar- or rather acquainted. The day Bruce had officially taken Tim in had caused his heart to beat rapidly with excitement. He wouldn’t be alone. He would have someone to love and in return be loved again. Having been made Batman’s official sidekick Robin, and later on the son of Bruce Wayne, Tim had slowly rubbed his glands over the furniture, instigating his presence and position in Wayne manor of the Wayne Pack. Unfortunately for Tim, his presence wasn’t that wanted from the still-grieving Alpha. Bruce had ordered Alfred to sterilise every corner of the manor to erase Tim’s newly scented placement, and then taken the boy by the shoulders and firmly stated that such behaviour wasn’t appreciated- not his exact words, but the message came across easily enough.

 

Bruce, his mentor and father figure, had refused to allow Tim to scent him as pack when he was thirteen. Having felt dejected from Bruce’s firm dismissal, he stopped his attempt towards integrating completely into Bruce’s pack; Tim acknowledged the fears and paranoia Bruce had about losing another son to death’s grip. Tim never made another attempt, even when Jason was found alive. Damian himself had scented onto Bruce days after his arrival, but Tim refused to act again. Tim knew his place, and it wasn’t in the pack.

 

A knock to his sanctuary has Tim abandoning his reports.

 

“May I come in, Master Timothy?”

 

Tim smiled, “Come right in, Alfred!”

 

With a gentle push, the Beta Butler of Wayne manor entered the room, eyeing the layout with a slight crinkle to his brow, before settling his disapproving grandfather look to the unashamed youth.

 

“Perhaps you were unaware, Master Timothy, of the use of your clothing drawers. Hidden beneath the abundance of garments wherein they should be neatly folded and placed.”

 

Tim wracked his brain for an excuse and then attempted to convey a sheepish façade.

 

“I was nesting.”

 

Good boy Tim, that’s how it’s done!

 

“I see,” Alfred mused. “Shall I inform Master Bruce of your need for Heat pills?”

 

Tim flushed at the suggestion, façade already beginning to crumble. Heaven forbid the Alpha trying to help care for a- supposedly - emotionally wrecked Omega. Bruce could barely handle his own emotions; if he could he would have thrown money at them to sort the problem. If emotions were the bowels of Wayne Manor, it would be constipated.

 

“Or perhaps you are in need of familial scenting for your nesting instead? I am certain-”

 

An image of Dick grabbing him with his octopus limbs and iron strength had Tim reeling at the thought, “I changed my mind. I want to be lazy instead of nesting.”

 

“Well I would prefer to be awoken by the scent of the Hawaiian beach, instead of sewer-scented vigilantes, but we cannot all have our wishes granted, can we?”

 

The Beta was in a sassy mood.

 

“Did Bruce do something wrong?”

 

“Of course not, Master Tim. I can’t recall a moment when Sir has ever gained my disapproval.”

 

What the hell did Bruce do this time?

 

“Regardless, I would remind you that your curfew is now being enforced and you will wash your hands promptly before heading downstairs for supper.”

 

There was a curfew set in place for everyone in the manor- only 2 hours on the computer for business activities, and 4 hours for vigilante activities. Ever since the incident with Batman and Nightwing- having pulled a non-stop 36 hour research and analysis- Alfred had invoked the new curfew (one which Tim had wholeheartedly supported at the time, though now regretted). Stupid Male Alpha’s and their damn testosterone-filled pride.

 

Tim attempted to make his eyes bigger, and his face softer. His bottom lip hung lower, quivering with forced plea. With a desperate look he tried-

 

“Alfred-”

 

“Very good then, sir.”

 

Pigs, tits and parsley! Tim mentally cursed, rolling his eyes up in frustration.

 

Alfred parted with a swift nod, and twinkling eyes.

 

With a grumble and a low whine in his chest, Tim saved his files and shut his computer down, dragging his feet with a sulk to his en suite. Washing his hands and neck glands, Tim swiped a thin streak of coconut oil along his neck and wrists, concealing the medicinal ointment underneath it. Reaching for his tablets, he washed them down, giving himself a few minutes before heading downstairs. It was necessary to take precaution- the doctor had said so.

 

Along the hallway, various pictures of the Wayne pack decorated the walls, giving them a sense of life through the austere tone of the Wayne manor. Years had passed, but the sight of those captured moments always had Tim reeling with fulfilment when he saw them. It made him purr with pleasure, and his small chest swell with pride. Although he may not be part of the pack completely, in his heart they were a part of his- whether they knew it or not. The love Tim felt every time he walked through the hallways, reabsorbing those happy moments the Wayne pack flourished through the lens of his camera or the brush of an artist, washed away any lingering hurt he felt. The pictures from Tim’s end of the hallway started with Damian and Titus, along with various other family members scattered here and there. As he walked towards the stairs, a small category of himself was made, before few pictures of Jason appeared, then Dick, Bruce and eventually, with a large over-hanging portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

 

Making his way into the dining room, Tim strode towards his seat at the opposite end of the table. Bruce, sitting at the opposite end of the table, smiled as a greeting to Tim his eyes crinkling with signs of age. To Bruce’s left Dick chattered amicably with Jason on his immediate right, Damian at his father’s left, allowing Dick and Jason’s chatter to fill both his and Bruce’s own silence. With a sniff Damian glanced at Tim, but said nothing and continued to eat his mushroom fettuccine.

 

Alfred always catered accordingly to the pack’s preferences; Bruce- having been raised with a golden spoon in his mouth- preferred cuisine fit for a God, Dick preferred his evening meal with an exceptional amount of spice (a fact Jason had learnt first-hand when deciding to steal his leftovers one morning), Jason didn’t have a preference for any particular cuisine ("As long as its edible and doesn’t give me anything more than a stomach ache, I’ll eat it with my bare hands" had once been applied to a conversation), Damian’s vegetarian meal had to be nutritional- without any preservatives or additives. As for Tim, he followed somewhat after Jason; he would take whatever he was given.

 

Seating himself, he smiled appreciatively towards the Beta of the household hiding away in the corner, watching with a whimsical eye over the mansion residents. Tim could understand perfectly; it was such a rarity that all the males were in a single room with each other outside their nightly vigilantism and without threats of blood-spill or limb-loss. It was domestically perfect.

 

“Ha! I give ya’ twen’y bucks he hid it in ‘is arse.”

 

Domestically perfect, with its vulgar moments.

 

“-Master Jason, please refrain from derogatory comments at the table-”

 

Dick chimed over Alfred, “No way! They gave him an X-ray. My money’s on his Omega smuggling it in for him-”

 

“-No O-Tool is tha’ dumb-”

 

“Jason.” Bruce cut in with a warning, whipping a quick glare at Tim as he prepared to throw mashed potatoes at the derogative Omega.

 

Jason Todd, an Omega with the physique of an Alpha. Before Jason’s temporal death and resurrection, he had been exactly as anyone would presume him to be- an Omega- albeit a High Omega. However, after the Lazarus pit aided in resurrecting his body, the pit had seen fit to boost his testosterone levels with his body reacting accordingly as if he was going through a second presenting. Tim had a theory in regards to the Lazarus pit, however voicing it seemed unwise due to the existing company. Bruce more than likely had the same theory, but out of respect for Jason and the utter relief he had for the risen Omega’s returned existence, decided not to follow that lead; one of few leads the night-time detective refused to acknowledge.

 

“Soz B-man.”

 

“Soz?” Bruce blinked confused, looking to Tim and Damian for translation on a generational grammar he surely missed.

 

“Ignore Todd’s drivel, father. He quotes the inept intelligence of his generation.”

 

“Damian’s right.” Tim hummed in agreement, shifting his mashed potatoes to one side of his mouth to speak. “Expect Jason to come back with dreadlocks and half a nut tomorrow after Alpha Appreciation Day.”

 

“Wha' the hell happened to the other half o’ ma nut?” Jason looked up from his meal, ignoring the spits of food flying from Dick’s laughing gob.

 

Tim smiled, “Nut piercing gone wrong?”

 

“Blue Balls,” Damian smirked.

 

Jason sneered with his teeth, a growl rumbling from his chest. "Ya two lil bastards can suck ma-"

 

Bruce and Alfred growled warningly in their chest.

 

"-Jellybeans. Suck ma jellybeans an' choke on 'em."

 

Dick laughed, "Well aren't you two just the apple to his eye?"

 

"More like the thorns to my side," Jason countered.

 

"The pimple to your bottom cheeks?"

 

"The shit-stain to ma undies."

 

"No car for two weeks," Bruce slid in effortlessly, ignoring the outrage on the Omega's face. "If you want to get anywhere, then you can walk or bus- with a chaperone."

 

Jason seethed in outrage, but settled in his seat as Alfred walked closer to the table with a stern scent. The rest of the pack followed suit, suffocating their laughter behind closed teeth- or in Bruce’s condition, rubbing his temples as if to erase the stupidity of his children. Despite Jason's outward displeasure, a subtle scent exuded from the towering man- pleasure. Tim could pick it up easily, despite the other Omega's attempt to hide it, and was more than certain everyone else was able to smell the subtle undertone. No one said anything though, in Tim's expert opinion: No one wanted to ruin the little improvements in the oddly formed pack bonds Bruce had managed to create amongst all of them.

 

Dinner didn't always end up like this. Seldom did they eat together as most times someone or another was in a different part of Gotham, eating alone in their own hidden corner as if hiding from the stares of the world. Most times it was Jason, the other Omega of the Wayne pack, sometimes it was Dick- the people pleasing Alpha who strived to satisfy everyone he knew, pack or otherwise. Bruce was the type of Alpha to sequester himself away and rely on his Beta to maintain control of the pack in his stead, an old-fashioned arrangement that still happened among existing monarchies, but an ideal that seemed to work best in the manor. Damian always sat at the dining table for a meal, etiquette demanding the mini-Alpha's presence at specific intervals.

 

As for Tim, he was between Jason and Bruce, having moved out of the manor a while ago and living in his own apartment. Tim came over rarely. Most times he was over for work and vigilante cases- though he never stayed more than one night a month- and the few times he came over outside of business, it was under Alfred's insistence that he should spend time with "an elderly man whom's bones are too weary too travel away from the manor." If Tim was being honest with himself, the old Beta was milking his age just so he wouldn't have to put up with Bruce's emotional incompetence by himself. It didn't matter, Alfred reminded Tim of his father, and familiarity was always a satisfying feeling to the desperate Omega.

 

After their meal, Tim excused himself and went to bed. He would've helped with the dishes but Alfred was old-fashioned. Alfred's lip had curled at the thought, as it often did when Tim suggested to help, and shook is head in refusal.

 

"Do you think me incompetent at my own job, Master Timothy?" Alfred had inquired.

 

Here we go. Tim rolled his eyes good-naturally.

 

"I think we work you far more than we should. I like showing gratitude, why not show it by assisting you?" Tim replied.

 

Alfred hummed. "Assist me? Gratitude?" he said, emphasizing the words loudly. "Do you hear that Master Bruce? Young Master Timothy would like to _assist me_ as his _gratitude_ for the _servitude I provide_."

 

Bruce groaned, head looking as if it wanted to slam into the table.

 

"Isn't Young Master Timothy an exemplary young man with _decent values_ and _common sense_?"

 

Bruce grumbled, "Uh-huh."

 

"You must write down the people who taught you such spectacular form of decorum," Alfred mused to Tim pleasantly, before his articulation took on a morbidly displeased tone. "Masters' Bruce, Richard, Jason and Damian could do some good from them, I am sure."

 

So the sassy butler wasn't just pissed at Bruce? Oh, Tim was going to have fun finding out what happened.

 

The shroud of night passed fast. Tim lay undisturbed in his sleep as his dreams rolled like a cinematic movie underneath his eyelids. He wasn't aware of Batman and Robin swinging through the Gotham lights as crime raced to elude them, nor the presence of another pulling his sheets off his over-heating body. Tim remained asleep, drool pouring out of his open-mouth and shifted only when the touch of cold fingers touched his skin and gently shut his mouth closed. With the heat no longer attacking him, Tim's limbs sprawled out towards all corners of the bed, taking advantage of the coolness the air had to offer.

 

Pressure settled at the side of Tim’s bed, fingers running through the mane that grew to be Tim’s hair. The stroking fingers pulled him deeper under the waves of dreams, and the scent of sweet pastry and cinnamon only comforted his sleep further. After a while the stroking ceased, a brief pause before medicinal ointment sifted through the air. A small paste ran over the glands of Tim’s neck, gently rubbed in by deft fingers.

 

A soft tissue wiped away the drooling contents around Tim’s mouth before vanishing along with the attached presence. By morning, Tim awoke refreshed as any recovering insomniac could be. He washed away the built up oils of sleep and took notice to refill his depleting pills as he swallowed two more. He clothed himself in the freshly-ironed suit laid out on his remade bed (bless that wonderful ninja Beta) and sauntered downstairs for his morning ritual: coffee. Fifteen minutes later he was out the door, with nary a sight of any other house-hold guests, and headed to work.

 

Time ticked away as Tim slotted himself into place at work, overseeing Wayne funding and projects. He checked in with different departments and filed for their overview reports of the month. Tim was nothing if not efficient. He had worked hard to get to where he was, not the position itself- but the respect and acknowledgement from his subordinates and peers. There was no doubt in Tim’s mind that their society had come a long way from the prejudice their ancestors had once been influenced by, however he was not naïve to believe that remnants of the past was not present in its predecessors.

 

At one point in time, the board members had been completely against Tim acting as CEO of WE but nowadays Tim remained shocked, trying to comprehend the sudden change in face of his fellow board members; they hadn’t made it easy with Tim acting as Bruce’s replacement, his designation leading them to believe Tim too delicate to handle such daunting tasks- the old-fashioned prunes. By all rights, Bruce should have been there in Tim’s seat, however with months of Bruce Wayne’s unexpected disappearance the board was surprisingly- though understandably- hesitant to regain their top-boss and pay-check back into the fold. It had been voted eight to two that Timothy Drake should stay on as leading CEO and Director while Bruce handled his affairs with his family, business and media life before he resumed work.

 

Three months had passed, a perfectly acceptable amount of time for Bruce to return, yet Tim maintained his position within the company. Weary was his colour but he could find no foul play with any of the other board members- at first Tim had believed that they sought to manipulate him, but his encounters with each member had left that idea buried under mounds of doubt. To gain favour with the Omega of a billionaire Alpha? No. Those who did have children were already mated, and those who had neither children nor mate looked at him differently from lust or greed. No, there was something else there but something Tim was unable to understand.

 

Tim postured in his seat, spine erect with years of practice and discipline, sipping his fourth coffee as the members of the board gathered together to discuss the monthly statistics of Wayne Enterprises. In truth, he didn’t need the caffeine, and his belly was already full from the French sweets from the bakery across the road. Now he drank it out of habit, like a chain-smoker needing something to do with his twitching fingers. At least he would be settled through to the end of the meeting, as it seemed they would be in the meeting room for quite a while.

 

“Stocks are down by twelve percent, understandably as another recession seems to be underway-”

 

“-No excuses. LexCorp managed to gain that twelve percent, we have to consider internal faults-”

 

“-Our employees work diligently, we can’t place undue blame-”

 

“-Not without justifiable cause-“

 

“-The stock market has an unnatural trend around these three time periods, if we calculate-”

 

The clocked ticked from two o’clock to four o’clock.

 

"I'll approve the appropriate paperwork in concerns to our scientific and medical division," Tim agreed to the surrounding women and men. "Although, I am of the opinion that we should integrate the new terms and conditions over a period of three months instead of one."

 

Gavin McCauley, an adversary towards Tim’s competence and designation, was an old man with furrowed grey brows and a face lined with displeasure at anything breathing. He looked to Tim through his glasses down to the slope of his bulbous nose.

 

“And why would we want to allow for that, Mister Drake?” McCauley questioned with an air of hostility towards Tim’s motion.

 

“Our staff in both departments won’t handle the changeover in curriculum in only a month, not with pressing matters concerning their projects and deadlines,” Tim replied diplomatically, unfazed by the Alpha’s subtle offense.

 

McCauley wasn’t entirely an A-grade-Alpha-Arse, he genuinely distrusted Omega’s based on their instinctual emotional empathy. Lucius had had to sit Tim down one day, after a grueling board meeting had gone to heck when McCauley had managed to successfully denounce Tim’s authority and rights over the company.

 

 _“He’s an old coot, that McCauley.”_ Lucius had said, _“But I’ll tell you what, he knows this company better than Santa knows children. He isn’t disregarding you because you’re an Omega. He’s disregarding you because of an Omega’s_ supposed _typical emotional capacity.”_

 

Tim had spluttered at that with a dumbfounded expressions, Lucius just laughed.

 

_“I know it sounds like one and the other are the same, but to him it isn’t. McCauley has worked here for years, and in his experience, Omega’s working in the company have made business directions guided by emotions, not logical reasoning. He’s never spat at someone purely because they were born an Omega, to him that’s fascist. But he has lost his temper at an Omega for nearly giving away company secrets because that Omega thought he was helping the world with cheaper expenditure. The Omega’s heart was in right place, but not his head. It turns out that the company the Omega sought to give information to, was going to use it to sell it at even higher prices and keep all rights to it.”_

 

Tim had grumbled how he wasn’t that stupid.

 

_“Then show him you’re not.” Lucius looked him squarely in the eye. “Show him through that smart head of yours. Anyone can be passionate about something, but passion doesn’t always have to be shown through screaming and incessant arguing. Sometimes passion needs to be shown through our own effort to search for the truth and ability to listen to someone else’s truth. Do you get where I’m coming from Tim?”_

_“Yeah. I think so.”_

 

_“Good. Now next time you go in there, you show them- especially McCauley- where your place is. You hear me son?”_

 

Tim hadn’t completely understood at the time, but as the meetings continued to roll around Tim began to learn exactly what it was Lucius was explaining to him. He had handled those inevitable meetings better after the next, to where he always had an answer to follow up for his reasoning.

 

“Last year, those two divisions faced similar correctional curriculum changes and their reactions to them were astoundingly poor,” Tim continued, sparing each person brief eye-contact before settling on McCauley entirely. “While I am not suggesting these two divisions are incompetent, what with their track records-if we look through previous years of similar circumstances- it is fair to assume that negative results will occur if changes happen too quickly.”

 

McCauley stared for a moment, before nodding in resignation along with other board members.

 

“That is fair to assume, although this shows that we need to do something about their lack of inability. We cannot allow for such leniency when other departments are not given any.” McCauley noted.

 

Another board member agreed, “Especially when we need these changes to happen immediately. We cannot hold off because of someone else’s inability to change.”

 

“Perhaps a compromise?” An Omega suggested from down the table. “Three months is far too long, and one month will be far too quick. Let’s say a two months?”

 

McCauley disagreed, “It is still far too long. A month and a half would be the most amount of time we could allow.”

 

The Omega’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing. “That is still too fast for the employees, did you not hear that they have difficulty-”

 

“Bless your bleeding heart, Ms Anders,” McCauley rolled his eyes, “But we do not have time for unnecessary-”

 

“It is Miss! And what do you mean by unnecessary-”

 

“We should compromise the compromise,” Tim slipped in.

 

“How so?” The Alpha to his right queried, intrigued.

 

“If we cannot afford two or three months, then so be it. Let’s accommodate for a month and a half, but get in a temporary manager or two to help with the process.”

 

Everyone discussed the possibilities, the pros and cons. At the end of their discussion, Lucius announced he would speak to the managerial head position of the Medical and Science divisions before writing up a vacancy form.

 

“Well then,” Tim sighed. “Does that conclude our meeting or shall we marinate in one another’s scent for a milestone longer? Any takers?”

 

They laughed amongst themselves (McCauley even cracked a ghost of a smirk but rolled his eyes nonetheless) but declined Tim’s suggestion with good humour.

 

Tim clasped both hands with the female Omega, only a few inches separating them. He looked up at the tall Omega and smiled politely, receiving the same before she left with her bag and notes. Omegas typically farewell each other in that way, as Beta’s would clasp one another’s forearm or Alpha’s gripping one another’s wrist. A social cue, so to speak. When Tim said goodbye to the Beta’s and Alpha’s of the board, he offered them a curt nod and accepted their hand holding only up to the middle of his palm. This wasn’t seen as rude, but respectful to one another in the sense that their relationship between the other was completely platonic. An Omega who smiled openly as a greeting and farewell with another designation was seen as instigating an open-relationship with the other, and a Beta or an Alpha who grasped more than necessary of someone who wasn't the same designation, was seen as wanting to instigate a fight over dominance. It was an odd system engraved in their DNA, but they followed it obediently and without question.

 

As everyone saw themselves out, Tim trailed slowly behind, comprehending the events of the week. Today had gone smoothly, more so than others. It was productive and enlightening, and allowed Tim to assert a little dominance over the board without pushing for it. Purring quietly to himself, he couldn't hide the ecstatic feeling in his chest and smiled broadly to anyone who walked by. The week had gone well, and though Tim was reluctant to agree that something bad was building up underneath the surface of optimism, for now he was content with the way things were and would soak it in.

 

Driving to his multi-floor apartment, Tim considered his position in both the Wayne Pack and WE. While he wasn't exactly integrated within the pack, he was still included- a fact that appeased his inner Omega. Damian and Tim were still at odds, but the jabs never erased Tim from his place at the pack table. He had had a miniature cuddle-session with Dick on the couch after arriving briefly at the manor, nuzzling himself into the eldest's neck with absolute adoration as Dick held him in strong arms; their relationship was still awkward at times, but never enough to stop moments like those. Jason was still a prick, but a tolerable one. As for the WE- let's just say the migraines weren't as bad as they normally were.

 

Stepping into the open foyer, Tim locked the door behind him and stripped. He made his way to the upstairs bedroom that oversaw the entire complex of his home, moving into the bathroom to toss his clothes into the laundry basket; Surprisingly Tim was quite adamant about keeping his own space immaculate, the idea of even one dust-bunny out of place had Tim itching with annoyance. Showering and then resigning himself to his bed, Tim checked his upcoming schedule and smiled. Highlighted in green, with an icon of a stethoscope in the "February 22nd" box of his diary was a  familiar old name Tim hadn't seen in two years. It was about that time, now that Tim though about it. While he had been doing well by himself, Tim could feel himself losing grasp of his humanity- a slippery slope he didn't want to encounter again. The pills only did so much, and his medicinal cream was starting to run low.

 

Grabbing two items from the shelf above his bed, Tim gently place the items on pillows on either side of him. He wove a thin sheet around himself and buried his head into the lavender and mint scented pillows, a scent that reminded him heavily of his parents. Of safety, warmth and love. The clock read "6.30pm", and Tim would be up in three hours to return to Gotham as Red Robin. Sleep slowly encroached and Tim drifted off with the scent of his parents filling his senses, and the two dolls of his parents watching over his short dreams. For now he would rest and recuperate, by nine-thirty he would assume his second persona, the following day he would find out what the others had done to foul Alfred's mood, and the day after that he would meet a fellow friend and confidant.

 

Doctor Hodgson always had nice treats to give to Tim when he visited.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy-do neighbourienoes! It's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> I don't normally apologise for things (because I'm normally right and a stubborn cow) but I will for this- so count yourself blessed. I am so incredibly sorry for the late post, I have had this sequestered away for a while- incomplete mind you- but had been putting it off. It's a new year and things have changed drastically (Positively! Because I'm all about that life) and found myself often distracted.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you have all had an amazing Christmas, Hanukkah, and whatever etcetera etcetera. Hope New Years was awesome, happy birthday to people who had a birthday between the publishing date of my first chapter through to now. Congratulations, you one year close to your elderly pension- assuming you get one and/or are eligible (I don't know what other countries do).
> 
> Now then! Just to clear things up, some of my spelling words are going to be different and that's because in my country that's how we spell them. I follow more of the UK spelling- I'm not British, Scottish, Irish or whatever (Love yalls food though- big fan x). This is once again UN-beta'd, as will be the rest of the chapters. 
> 
> Would also like to thank the people who commented and gave kudos- you peeps are superstars! Once again, I react well to praise and constructive criticism. If you're just gonna be an egg because something offends your senses- then I apologise as that wasn't the intent, but also just stop reading and find something else to read, there are a lot of writers with amazing stories, I'm sure one will tickle your fancy.
> 
> I also thought it might be fun to do a little prompt-fest for people, just to get the mind mechanisms working, so everyone has a week to suggest a prompt, where I will be more than happy to look into. My only exceptions are explicit non-consensual intercourse (I'm an old-fashioned prude) and underage content- stuff is nasty for my senses. You peeps have until the end of the week 24th Sunday 11.59pm, so get to it x
> 
> I hope I haven't disappointed with this chapter, I will come back to it again. I had intended to get some more itty bitty details down, necessary for the plot. 
> 
> Air kisses from afar, you all keep yourselves well and happy.
> 
> Catch you all as soon as I can!


	3. No place but his own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a suspicious hum, Red Robin considered the options. So far, he was walking into an unobserved and hacked area where he had little-to-none information on possible persons. Taking into consideration that the unidentified equipment could be used as weapons against him or the city was an extreme assumption, but being in Gotham city- the most likely. He chuckled, he did always like a challenge.

Rain still persisted, although it was sparse now, much like crime in Gotham.

 

Burglars, psychopaths, secret societies against the mass population and the like continued to run rampant across the city, the multitude of the crime dictating upon by the previous mass crime bust. Once upon a time, as Red Robin recalled, Scarecrow had unleashed an untested gas throughout Gotham, the domino effect it caused had left Gotham crippled far more damage than it had ever been; One of Gotham's greatest scars. Alpha’s and Beta’s had turned on any Omega within their vicinity, and tore into them as their inner-instincts no longer saw them as an ally or neutral- but as a threatening enemy encroaching upon their territory. Very few were immune to the gas, leaving a few lucky Omega’s unscathed or alive, the majority were unfortunately far more tuned into their primitive instincts. Forty percent of the Omega population in Gotham city were either hospitalised and survived with PTSD and severe anxiety, or succumbed to their injuries and died.

 

At the time, it had been up to Red Robin and Red Hood to capture traces of the gas and analyse it, searching for an antidote and all the while keeping Batman, Nightwing and Robin at bay- even Agent A had become susceptible to the gas. By the time they had neutralised the threat they were already half way to finding Scarecrow, affected by his own gas and ripping away at a half-dead teenage boy with whom Red Robin and Red Hood had almost been too late to save-although in a way, perhaps the boy hadn't been saved as he was placed into a mental facility after his Omega side had officially marked everyone as an enemy and replaced all forms of humanity and normality.

 

Scarecrow had been escorted to Arkham Asylum once more, with broken ribs and a concussion, and after that night-for eight nights to be exact- crime had diminished substantially. Barely even a petty crime had been made, criminals aware that the air was still tense with what had happened, and far too afraid to provoke Batman’s ‘Pack’. Since then, patrol had been nice and easy, barely an attempted robbery or a fraud scam happening day or night. Admittedly, Red Robin and Batman's pack had been bored- though grateful-for the lack of injuries and puzzling crime schematics; a detective needs to keep his mind occupied after all. Thank goodness for small mercies that graced one of the younger detectives tonight.

 

“Red Robin. I need you en-route towards Westward Bridge. Stealth-mode, but make it snappy. ”

 

Red Robin pressed the communication line in his ear, “Copy that Oracle. ETA: two minutes.” Releasing his grappling hook, he swung through the towering buildings as he listened to the Beta in his ear.

 

“Check the harbour out. Security systems have been cut, and the docking information rewired,” Oracle relayed. “As far as I know, there are supposed to be two shipments being imported from Indonesia and Austria-”

 

“-let me guess. None-safe, more than likely illegal equipment?”

 

“ _Indonesia_  give it away?”

 

Red robin grinned. "You kidding? I got it at  _harbour_."

 

“Alright then Sherlock Holmes. These shipment orders were invested under a man called Darien Westworth. Records indicate he is a newly-local Gothamite…” A brief pause turned longer.

 

“...Anything else you’d like to tell me?” Red Robin inquired.

 

“There’s a lot I would like to tell you,” Oracle replied, a confused grumble in her voice. “But this guy’s details are limited. No background story, no nothing. Not even a designation. Red, I’m not able to access anything- his information is either locked down tight or non-existent.”

 

With a suspicious hum, Red Robin considered the options. So far, he was walking into an unobserved and hacked area where he had little-to-none information on possible persons. Taking into consideration that the unidentified equipment could be used as weapons against him or the city was an extreme assumption, but being in Gotham city- the most likely. He chuckled, he did always like a challenge.

 

“I’ll keep my com on but it’ll be radio-silent on my end. Keep someone on standby just in case.”

 

“Roger that. Be careful, Red Robin.”

 

“Always am.”

 

“Said the idiot without a spleen.”

 

“Pft, it was  _one time_.”

 

“You only had  _one spleen_!”

 

Red Robin cut his com and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He had walked right into that one. What could he say, other than he was a glutton for punishment?  Regardless, he enjoyed little banters with someone outside the Bat Pack. Oracle, Spoiler and Orphan, although they fought underneath Batman’s banner, it was unspoken knowledge that they weren’t exactly part of Batman’s pack dynamics; their own personal life and obligations ceasing a position in the pack. At some point, Oracle had been part of the pack, but her relationship with Batman and Nightwing had threatened the already established bonds- if it weren’t for Agent A, Red Robin knew there would have been a reckoning. Spoiler had her own issues, but going into them would be opening a can of worms for himself, so it was best to keep those thoughts at bay. As for Orphan, she had yet to find herself before she would even allow an integration between her and Batman’s pack to take place- but there would always be a place for her, a place Red Robin had always dreamt about but denied himself; he had tried once, he wouldn't try again and risk his heart as fragile as it already was.

 

Bounding across the city and landing quietly onto the harbour's shipping containers, Red Robin scoped out the area. He covered his entrances and exits, before leaping to the warehouse rooftops and scanning the field. Fifteen men altogether, their builds suggesting alphas, and each one was armed with a weapon and looked especially eager to use it at the first signs of movements in the shadows. They circled inside and outside of the warehouse, and as a couple more minutes passed along, a shipping boat came into view.

 

Pressed to the shadows, Red Robin moved closer to two interacting persons of interests. Their bottom faces were obscured by thin masks, metal braces around their neck- covering their scent glands most likely, but why?

 

“When the shipment comes in, get your third wave to take over the first.” One Alpha said.

 

“Something come up?” the second inquired.

 

“Something came up.”

 

Brows furrowed behind his mask, Red Robin had to applaud their subtlety despite the arisen difficulty it gave his job- although this would be far more interesting. He smirked, his inner-detective had been bored, craving to exercise its mind and feed on something new and exciting. The only ones who could give him a challenge were: The Riddler, Ra’s Al Ghul (though he hadn’t heard from the demon in quite some time) and the Joker- although Batman had made it clear that he wasn’t to interact with him since his capture long ago. Those three were few and far between, and despite the gravity of the situations each villain supplied- his inner-Omega was so mischievous and thirsty for a challenge that it overrode any common sense and grasp for normality.

 

Minutes later the ship docked, trucks came rolling in. The armed men moved methodically towards the shipment and trucks, unloading wooden crates and then packaging them away into the trucks without nary a word. Edging closer, Red Robin tried scanning through the crates with his gauntlet, hoping to get a reading of some sort, but when the analysis was unable to properly identify the mysterious crates, he knew he’d have to pop one open.

 

Unlocking one of his gadgets from around his belts, he set a lure device to capture everyone's attention further away. It was mere moments before a strong scent and subtle noise garnered the attention of all the Alphas. Guns clicked unanimously, and their chatter ceased just as fast. With two of the three trucks already filled, another man clothed in heavier gear than the others pounded on each side of the trucks and waving them off as they drove away in a rush, leaving one half-full truck behind. Using the advantage, Red Robin eyed the area before diving towards the wall of crates. Sequestered behind the towering crates was conveniently enough another crate easily enough to get through.

 

Pressing a finger behind his ear, “Oracle. I’m sending some data your way.”

 

“Confirmed. I need you to be extra careful here Red Robin. Batman and Robin are held up with Killer Croc, Red Hood is backup at the moment, and Nightwing received an emergency hit from Bludhaven.”

 

No one escaped killer crock without at least two broken bones or a sever gash that caused major blood-loss; Batman and Robin would need Red Hood, and Red Robin would have to do without. Not like it mattered, he had been forgotten or neglected for aid by each one before, but he wouldn't deny his loved ones the same help he needed all those times without them. Nightwing played a major part in Bludhaven, he wouldn't intervene when others took precedence. He had survived more than once without the Pack, he would continue to do so now, no matter how much his Omega side curled away in dismay at being left alone again.

 

“Roger that.”

 

“Keep it to Intel-gathering, okay Red?”

 

“Sure thing Oracle. Blacking out now.”

 

Opening the side of the crate, a flow of polystyrene corn came out, underneath the mass, a solid safe was tucked away.

 

 _A DNA Safe lock? This’ll be fun._  Red Robin mused with excitement.

 

Using his gauntlet to connect to the safe, he found out he could easily bypass the security system. Entering in a few codes he gave a triumphant grin. Moments like this he wished he could capture his success- a pinch to his neck followed through with an electrical current. The current had coursed through so suddenly he didn’t have any time to register pain. Red Robin blacked out before he could think a single thought.

 

It must haven a while, because as he felt his conscience rise above the force of pain and sleep, his mind felt groggy- like he had woken up in the sun after too long a nap- and his head pounded rhythmically with an unjustifiable vengeance- he had most likely hit his head as he fell unconscious.  His senses zoned in and out to his surroundings as he began to make sense of the sounds and smells, and the sudden brush of fingers over his skin. Calloused strokes across his forehead aroused him further from his hazy state, a damp cloth pressed comfortably across his forehead. It was soothing- he couldn't help but purr.

 

A finger ran across his neck, just shy of his scent glands, an intimate course of action that wasn’t allowed to anyone Red Robin did not permit as  _His_. Primal instincts reacting before his brain could process the consequences or rights of his actions, Red Robin lashed out with a viscious intent. Teeth bared and nostrils flared, Red Robin twisted and writhed ferociously, but found he was unable to move his limbs far against gripping steel chains, in an attempt to attack what his Omega-side identified as a  _defiler_.

 

Omegas didn’t handle being touched by strangers well. Same could be said for other designations, but those with an Omega side could be extremely volatile as Red Robin would prove. Teeth continuing to snap, they eventually caught flesh as the restraints pulled a slight fraction, and the taste of cooper lingered over the Omega's taste buds. Pained cries rang out, angry shouts and guns rustling echoing close behind.

 

"Get a dosage on him!-"

 

“Hold your fire!”

 

The volatile Omega continued to thrash, a powerful force driving his actions from the depths of his minds. It would be hard to say how long he had been held hostage now in these bonds, especially with him squirming and snapping his teeth to the side to ward off any more touches. He was losing himself completely, and he knew that- but for whatever reason, he refused to care.

 

“Easy now,” a deep voice mused, a wince carried beneath. “That was thoughtless of I, now wasn’t it sweet bird?”

 

Robin continued to thrash.

 

"Birdie? I need you to calm down-"

 

"FUCK OFF!" The Omega roared from his chest, feral mind and burst of emotions suddenly driving him. "Fuck! Fuck! Raah! Grr!"

 

"Omega." The word was spoken with authority and power, a growl echoing behind the word that was sounded out like a warning, and with the sudden flood of pheromones clouding Red Robin's sense of smell, he became subservient to the person before him. His mind warned Alpha, but the scent screamed Beta and as the pheromones continued to roll through his nose, Red Robin confirmed it as a Beta who stood before him. Red Robin went still, teeth slowly receding behind his lips as he felt his body go compliant to the Beta's pheromones.  His Omega was complacent. For now.

 

“That about does it, huh sweet bird?”

 

Raising his head, he looked his accoster square in the eye. He couldn't make out any particular feature of the man, as the only light that seemed to be on was the one hanging over him like, the shadows clouding his assailants.

 

The man tutted, a smirk ghosting his corner lip. “If looks could kill.”

 

“You’re a Beta.” Came tumbling out, the only confirmation he had gathered there that night.

 

“And you are trespassing.” The Beta retorted without spite or malice. "A crime if I remember the Gotham laws correctly, as you'll see by these documents that will be presented to you, I currently have ownership of this harbour as of this evening."

 

Looking over his shoulder, he gestured for someone surrounding the two of them to come forward. A tall muscled female came strutting forward with signed documents and a governmental stamp, showing them to the captured vigilante. From what Red Robin could currently see, this man- Darien Westworth, as stated on the documents- had full rights of property ownership of the harbour warehouse.

 

"Now then, little bird, why were you trespassing?" Darien inquired with a smug grin. 

 

“I wouldn't call it trespassing, so much as scouting,” Red Robin retorted, feeling himself flushing with embarrassment at a minor misstep, so much for things going smoothly. He'd messed up more than once this evening, and if that didn't bruise a vigilante's ego? Ugh.

 

Head thrown back as the man guffawed a laugh, he strode forward into the overhanging light above Red Robin. A navy pin-stripe suit, and burgundy rose-patterned tie highlighted the man’s sharp features. An amused sun-kissed face stared appreciatively over Red Robin’s bound form with forest green eyes.

 

"Is that what they call it? Searching through a law-abiding citizen's belongings, without a judicial authoritarian, purely because my wares weren't-  _under no fault of my own_ \- properly entered into the Harbor's computer system?"

 

"Are you a law-abiding citizen?"

 

Darien paused as if considering the question, shrugging as he answered, " _Hypothetically_  speaking, I may have bought a few pirated movies here and there. Maybe a few streams online."

 

"Well if that doesn't just scream prison."

 

"On the contrary, the actors mostly do the screaming."

 

Red Robin recoiled slightly in his chains, was this guy a classical-horror nerd or a sadist? Darien looked over the vigilante's expression and grinned.

 

"Don't judge me if you've never seen 'One Cock, Two Omegas' before." he laughed promptly at Red Robin's sudden display of disgust.

 

Just great, he had screwed up at every turn this evening, and got knocked out by a porn addict. Thinking about it further, Red Robin knew none of this would be leaving the harbour this evening, and if he had to burn everything and everyone this evening just to hide it all from Robin and Red Hood, then so be it. He may not have much self-preservation, but he had pride dammit! Getting back to the situation, this man  _knew_  he would be searched tonight, not only that, but he also seemed to have an idea of who was giving Red Robin intelligence. He had somehow managed to avoid Oracle's eyes (handwritten documentation perhaps? Unlikely, but not unheard of), and even came prepared with  _legal_ papers. Well played, you horny-hijacking-fuck.

 

The man smirked, as if he knew what the lone vigilante was thinking.

 

"I've always been old-fashioned when it came to communication.  I'm also proud of my handwriting," he leaned closer into Red Robin's space, as if hiding a secret and whispered," Between you and I, I got my pen-license one week into fourth grade."

 

Red Robin scoffed, unimpressed by the grandeur of this man. "Become a scribe, I'm sure they'd be interested in someone who can write calligraphy."

 

Darien laughed, "Perhaps."

 

Silence stretched amongst the two, each one staring the other down. The Beta's release of pheromones in the air had begun to recede, unknown to Red Robin as he willed his gaze to then focus beyond the Beta and to the shadows shrouding possible others. The woman from before had drawn back into the cover, and seemed to be merged in with roughly ten other figures of a bigger build.

 

"So why the secrecy then, Mister Westworth? Seems to do you more trouble than good to be acting so suspiciously under the shroud of night." He would need more time to adjust to the darkness and properly evaluate his chances. So far they had him wrapped up tight, his arms and fingers felt as if they had all been wrapped individually and separately- he wouldn't be using any hidden gadgets anytime soon unless he was alone.

 

"I'm about as curious as you are, sweet bird," Darien smiled. "Another person's tell is my gain."

 

"And what is your gain?"

 

"An advantage."

 

"To what?"

 

Darien tutted, "Now, now. I can't go giving away all my secrets, otherwise that would be  _my_  tell."

 

Red Robin changed his approach, "Are you going to kill me?"

 

That charming smile that graced Darien Westworth's lips, now turned nasty and cold. "For  _scouting_? No little bird. Besides, I've never been one for the thrill of the chase. If I killed you, Batman and his pack might retaliate."

 

Batman's pack, not  _your_  pack. Was it that obvious Red Robin wasn't part of the mainframe? That he was only the background character to the Bat family's developing story, barely even a supporting character? The thought shattered his heart just that little more, but in the end it didn't matter. He may not have counted to them, but every single one of them counted to Red Robin. To Tim Drake.

 

 

The Beta eyed the vigilante with an amused gaze.

 

“Release him.”

 

Two Alpha's strode quickly into the light, shifting behind Red Robin. After a few clicks and twists, the chains slackened before dropping down carefully at his feet. His fingers, he found out later, had been individually bound by bubble wrap before taped together and bound again in rope, the two men taking care with removing every warp from his person (another anomaly of the night he supposed). It took a while to get some feeling into his limbs, but soon enough he was confident that he could get away if he had to. Squaring off the way his mother and father had taught him, he reigned in any lingering Omega instincts safely behind his walls, feeling unnatural as he did so, as if denying the part of himself that held him together. It wasn't a technique Batman had officially taught any of his protégés or one he condoned- respectively anyone could do it with a little practice- however suppressing your designated side could be detrimental to one's mental health if it was done for a prolonged period of time; Red Robin knew that. He had to live with that fact as he swallowed each pill twice a day, and lately he had to be prescribed stronger dosages as they each month they became less effective.

 

Red Robin puffed his chest up (like his father taught him), neck crooked to the side to feign submission (like his mother taught him), and eyes tracking every person in the room as the lights all shuttered on and his arms hovered in a way that would protect him from any incoming attacks and attack anyone when they lowered their defenses. It was Batman's training that helped him keep a clear mind and strategy in play.

 

Darien Westworth had watched Red Robin, and instead of playing into his hand Darien responded differently than most had done to Red Robin in the past- in both his vigilante and citizen life. “You are magnificent,” Darien murmured in awe. "Just marvelous."

 

Red Robin refused to show how those words affected him.

 

Considering his options, Darien chose one above the others and acquired what appeared to be his signature charming smile.

 

“Come."

 

Turning sharply on his heel, hands linked behind his back, Darien walked towards the warehouse doors. The Beta's underlings closed in around his sides, the two from Red Robin's side striding quickly towards the front of Darien- assumedly already having an idea of where he was going. There was a space for Red Robin to walk behind him, and after considering, warily he followed.

 

“You hoped to find incriminating evidence against my name? Unveil secrets like a badly hidden affair?" Darien asked without seeking an answer, "Unfortunately, I am unable to offer you any.”

 

They had returned to the site where Red Robin had been shocked into unconsciousness. The open crate and safe still untouched and polystyrene looking undisturbed from its placement, aside from the light rain and wind in the air. Now standing by the open crate which Red Robin had been close to identifying the contents, Darien gestured for him to search through the contents. A chance to prove his innocence? A misleading attempt? Leaning around the tall man, he sifted through the safe, unwilling to use his gauntlet with a possible enemy nearby (and to be fair it hadn't been able to penetrate through the crates and safe anyway, he wasn't about to- dare he think it- trust equipment that had already failed him.

 

Bubble-wrapped items were strapped securely in the safe, items of various sizes and shapes. They had been individually wrapped, and after unveiling all of them, it had been revealed to be pottery and clay figurines. Explicitly detailed pottery and figurines. So the man was a pervert, good to know, yet un-phased by the vigilante's discovery of Darien's characters and preferences, Darien smiled cheekily at him and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Red Robin refused to take the bait, “You could have easily swapped the merchandise with the pottery while you had me unconscious.”

 

Darien rolled his eyes, “Fine, check the cameras-”

 

“Which were disabled how long ago?”

 

“Only to unwanted eyes-”

 

“Safety measures are-”

 

“Unprecedented to those who are not obliged by them,” Darien finished. “If you want, I can give you the documentations regarding my wares, along with the camera footage and firearm legalities which my men and I are currently following.”

 

Red Robin had nothing. In less than a couple hours, he had been caught and captured, rendered unconscious and speechless by this gallivanting Beta who took particular pleasure at stopping Red Robin at every corner. Robin would have a field-day with this. The most unnerving thing, Darien acted like he knew everything would play out this way, as if it were a game he had conducted and everyone else was his to manoeuvre.

 

“Will I be giving the documentations to you or Oracle? As I assume it was her conducting the Intel search online.”

 

The way he said that had Red Robin believing that Darien didn't need to act. After having a computer chip thrown at him, the Beta smiled briefly before ordering his pottery to be wrapped once more.

 

"Red Robin," he nodded politely, extending his arm.

 

Red Robin took the hand midway to his palm and inclined his head. "Mister Westworth."

 

"Call me Darien, little bird. We both know you and I are about to bump into each other's lives a lot more after tonight."

 

"You seem pretty sure of that fact."

 

"Well," Darien sniffed arrogantly, "I have always been rather pretty. The prostitutes I hire always tell me so."

 

Yup, Red Robin was going home now. He already had one narcissistic pervert in his life, and having to deal with that on a weekly bases didn't do much good for one's well-being. Red Hood always enjoyed talking about the underground sex life when Nightwing was around, and while Red Robin wasn't exactly a virgin himself he didn't appreciate the crude behaviour shoved through his ears and pounded into his mind. That was just nasty.

 

"This is where I take my leave," Red Robin hurried.

 

"Well you take care little bird. Maybe take some ice to your head before you watch that video- you didn't fall gracefully."

 

 

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to land on something soft if it ever happens again."

 

Urgh, he would have to watch the video just in case he missed something. Great. Hard evidence of his failure. Red Robin leaped away before the Beta could use his words as a sexual innuendo, and ignored the fading laughter as he swung away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Robin had pulled up the video, watched it, then promptly burnt it.

 

He hadn't _fallen_ on his head at all. On the contrary, just as he started falling the Beta had swiftly run up behind the vigilante and caught him his arms. Darien Westworth had taken extra care to arrange Red Robin in his arms, and just when it began to look like a fairy tale moment- where the prince carries his princess- Darien had knocked Red Robin's head hard against the side of the crate's side. It get's better- in his clumsy movement, the Beta had recoiled at the accident and went to cover his mouth (as if to mask his shock), only to release Red Robin from his grasp and drop him against the concrete floor, and instead of carefully picking him up again, the Beta had tripped! Over his two fat feet and kicked him in the head in the process- that useless Fuck! Red Robin was seething. His Omega was seething. Every part of his was coiled with rage.

 

In the end, the woman who had shown him the documents, had been the one to carry Red Robin over her shoulder and pushed the Beta away as he tried to make amends to the unconscious Omega before following the woman's lead into the warehouse where he was checked over before being promptly tied up.

 

He had just started to light a fire when Oracle's communication links came back online, requesting for an update. He didn't answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Darien Westworth knew a prize when he saw one, and Red Robin was the trophy he would frame on his wall. He was the challenge the Beta needed, and also the right designation, but for now he would bide his time before he made his move. 

 

Sipping his scotch, he leaned back in the plush chair, taking comfort in the soft fur wrapped over the headrest. He sat comfortably in his new home, fire roaring by his side and adding to the ambiance in the room. A side table housed his finished plate, one dirtied and clean golden initialed napkin, and a half-smoked cigarette. Adorning the walls were paintings from Picasso enthusiasts and Greek mythology, the table surfaces throughout the room adorning his shipment of pottery and figurines. This was his sanctuary. His peace and place. Closing his eyes he let his thoughts wonder.

 

Steel sung through the air, and a cold pressure whispered across Darien’s bared neck, a droplet of blood following the line of a sword.

 

Darien groaned in annoyance, but made no move to remove the weapon. “What is it with you and my neck? Unable to get anyone to willingly submit to your will? – _tut- -tut-_ How very defective for an Alpha-”

 

“ _Cease_  talking.”

 

Darien rolled his eyes but obeyed.

 

“What did you find out?”

 

Glancing at the sword to his neck, he gave an unimpressed look, refusing to speak unless it was sheathed. With a withering stare the Alpha complied, but continued an unwavering and threatening stare to the one the Alpha considered lesser.

 

“He is a curious bird, one I’d enjoy playing with- had I the time. Trusts little else but his own brain and hands, and has an infinity for puzzles.” He sipped his scotch, enjoying the liquor playing over his nerves. “He would have made an appropriate heir-”

 

“Get. To. The point.”

 

“-but I need him for my research much more.” Standing up, he drowned the rest of his scotch and placed it on the coaster to his side. There was no use prolonging this conversation, and besides: the Beta wanted to escape this wretched Alpha as fast as he could. Extending his arm, he plastered a smile, “I’ll be happy to help you, but I want the bird for myself.”

 

Grasping forearms, they shook and the deal was made.

 

“Agreed. Just get him out of the picture.  _Immediately_.”

 

“These things take time, and I certainly can’t act now when I’ve only begun making a presence here in Gotham. A little suspicious if you ask me,” he smiled.

 

“Red Robin’s interference-”

 

“Is your own problem.” Darien paused, smiling at the disgruntled Alpha in front of him. “Not nice when someone interrupts  _you_ , is it?”

 

Teeth bared and growls ringing through the room, the Alpha pinned the Beta in to the chair by his throat, "Do not  _test me_ , you  _inbreed,_ " but the Alpha paused in the pressure against Darien's neck as red laser lines collected around the two. The Beta smiled, his own teeth bared at the Alpha in a direct challenge.

 

The pheromones in the room became heady, both designations initiating their own challenge. The Alpha challenged the Beta for dominance, a typical response but the Beta issued a challenge for obedience- a highly unheard of challenge for a Beta. Taken back by this newfound anomaly, the Alpha was blind to see a Taser in the Beta’s hand, before submitting into the Beta’s ferocious bite to the neck. As fast as the situation had arisen, it had fallen just as quickly. The challenge had been met and the Alpha had lost. The Alpha snarled in distaste, but the Beta could only smile a blood-thirsty smirk. Pearly whites stained with blood, eyes blood-shot with lust and murder; this Beta wasn’t your typical Beta- and Darien had plans to show the world that was so, starting with this Alpha.

 

“Filthy Beta,” the Alpha spat, steadying the flow of blood to the neck. “There’s a reason your kind is sought for extermination.”

 

It was ironic how after centuries of progression, they had regressed in other areas. Where it was once Omegas being oppressed within the western world's society, it was the Betas who began to become oppressed. The racism against them became more pronounced as time passed by, and it wasn't likely to turn directions anytime soon. There always had to be someone at the bottom of the food-chain, and the strong was quick to survive and force others to submit.

 

“You say that, but we both know you need  _this Beta_  to get close to Batman’s pack.” Inhaling and exhaling heavily, Darien sought to submerge his Beta side. After a few more deep breaths, he took an unused cloth on the table-side and wiped the blood from his mouth. “I know a closed-off soul when I see one, and Red Robin is one. He trusts little and will sacrifice himself for what he deems is the greater good, and-from what you have told me- this boy’s pack has proved this ideology correct over and over again.”

 

Straightening his jacket and tossing the bloodied napkin into the fire, Darien poured another drink for himself and took another gulp, shaking his head pleasantly at the burn sliding down his throat.

 

“I have a plan,” he continued as if conducting business, “but I must bide my time. You however, are more than welcome to conduct your own plans immediately. Though I advise you to take wisdom in my previous words, as I do not speak lightly or without care.”

 

The Alpha stared down the Beta but quickly looked away, not interested in wanting to start a fight prematurely once more. Darien Westworth was more than just a Beta who had wormed his way through the slums of society to the poisonous chambers of aristocracy; a place-less Beta with little to his name had proven himself equitable in power to an Alpha. For now the Alpha would bide her time as the Beta would, plan an attack against the insufferable Red Robin and remove Tim Drake from the Wayne pack permanently. That wasn’t his place. Ten feet under dirt and death was.

 

"I will take the necessary steps needed for my plan," the Alpha stated. "After which you had better come through for me."

 

"Very well." Darien nodded, "Now, I would offer you a drink but that would mean having to put up with you more than necessary."

 

"As if I wanted your  _piss-water._ "

 

Pouring himself another final glass of scotch, he reclined back into his chair, raising his glass towards herself and then the far door.

 

"Then by all means Miss Al Ghul. Piss off."

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating as fast as I can. (*Hint* I update faster with praise and constructive criticism)
> 
> I'll edit the story sometime down the road, to make sure what I wrote does make sense. I'm one of those, I need to come back later after a certain period of time to find out what I did wrong, and how I f-d up.
> 
> Warning: I like to foreshadow events as much as I can, so of course there are a few holes here and there...although there might be a few holes because...you know...stupid mistakes.
> 
> Catch you all as soon as I can!


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